


Chasing you in my sleep

by kalime80



Series: My Drarry poems [9]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Poetry, sleepwalking!Harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-31
Updated: 2019-07-31
Packaged: 2020-07-27 21:29:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20052823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalime80/pseuds/kalime80
Summary: Draco dreams; Harry sleepwalks. Could the two facts be related?





	Chasing you in my sleep

**Author's Note:**

> Written for 2014 Draco-tops-Harry Fest for this prompt by Fyernaice:  
Draco is sharing a dorm room with Potter. Things are going as well as can be expected until the strangest thing happens. Draco is asleep one night when Potter crawls into his bed. Draco is shocked at first, but then realises Potter had been sleep walking. Rather than kicking Potter out of the bed, Draco decides to take Harry back to his own bed. Draco thought that was the end of it until another night Harry repeats the action…and the next…
> 
> Each night Harry takes more and more liberty with Draco's bed then his person (such as hugging his pillow, then Draco). One night, Draco gets a dream where a little green-eyed boy with glasses was all alone in a very close-space, Draco immediately knows it is a younger Harry. The boy was very sad, but then Draco shows up and comforts the boy, who falls asleep cuddled with Draco. When Draco awakens, he finds Harry cuddled to him with a serene smile on his face. After that, Draco begins getting similar dreams but with different scenarios such as Draco showing up for the boy's birthday with a cake and gift; in all the scenarios the boy is alone. Whenever Draco wakes from these dreams, Harry is there in bed with him with that contented smile. After a while it becomes increasingly difficult for Draco to transfer Harry to his own bed (Both because Harry clings tighter, and Draco finding himself becoming attach to him).

I guess I’ll never know what really was  
the reason why you came into my bed  
sleepwalking, open-eyed, night after night.  
  
At first it bothered me: your silent, absent weight  
tilting the mattress, and your empty face,  
the way your breath exhaled against my neck  
when you decided that my pillow’s soft  
and it’s your place to rest, the way you hogged  
my down comforter and my silken sheets.  
I tried too many times to bring you back  
in your vacated bedroom, dragging you  
unsteadily, my arm around your waist  
and way too many nights I stayed awake  
unable to relax, restless and coiled  
waiting for your arrival. You always came  
  
your hair the softest mess, your eyes ablaze  
green as the greenest green, unseeing, wide;  
your pyjamas a monster of red fleece,  
Golden Snitches embroidered on the front  
–I am a Seeker, do you need reminding? –  
your body pliant, and radiating warmth  
until somehow I could no longer sleep  
without your presence near me, just the idea  
to raise and to get up to drag you away  
inconceivably painful. From then on  
I had to sneak you back into your room  
at the first lights of day, scared to get caught.  
  
When the dreams started, first I saw a boy  
too scrawny, left alone in a cold room  
hugging his pillow, with gleaming tears’ paths  
staining his cheeks, and yet making no sound.  
I touched his face in hesitant caress.  
My reward was the brightness of his gaze  
and I knew it was you, for no one else  
has irises like that. When I awoke  
I found your eyes were closed, and your lips  
curled in the sweetest smile you’ve ever shown  
and I could not have done anything else  
but lay content beside you and fall asleep.  
  
In the rash of the dawn I spared no time  
to think about the meaning of it all:  
that you did really sleep curled by my side,  
that I did never want to wake again  
if not beside you, that I really wished  
to see you smile again, night after night  
only because of me. I do know now  
that was the night a crush turned into love  
and once I laid you down on your cold bed  
I grazed my fingertips over your face  
to see whether you’d smile, and since you did  
I felt hope for the first time after war.  
  
Time is the strangest thing; in the next dream  
you’re some years older, and I pick you up  
when you show me the gap in your front teeth  
and there’s nobody else that’s proud of you  
You giggle when I tickle you; it feels like  
there aren’t many reasons why you laugh  
and my heart bursts just thinking I am one.  
So I hold you and we cuddle. When I wake  
you’re burrowed on my neck, your breathing soft  
and I don’t wish to move ever again.  
If the same night my hand cards through your hair  
I’d only say it almost makes you purr  
  
and yet you stay asleep, pliant and warm  
and even when the sun’s about to rise  
forcing me, though reluctant, to get up  
to bring you back – the worst part of my day–  
I wonder: are you aware that you sleepwalk,  
that you’re coming each night to lay with me?  
Yet when awake you do not even glance  
in my direction, not a single time.  
It’s like you don’t acknowledge I exist  
not even for a fight. I miss the times  
when I had your full focus, your full rage  
yet I shelter you each night into my arms.  
  
I dream each of your birthdays, every gift you don’t get  
each time you scrap your knees, and every way  
your cousin bullies you. The moments when you miss  
your parents and the memory of being loved  
I am there and I let your hidden tears  
soak in my sweaters. I see you growing up  
into ugly clothes too big for your thin bones.  
I help you to repair your glasses’ frame  
with spell-o-tape. I visit you in your room  
–a dusty place without windows or light–  
we play together, and I try to mend  
the poor, broken leftovers you call toys.  
  
I’ve been cherished and spoiled; it bothers me  
to see that you’ve been not. There’s nothing nice  
that you could call your own, so inside the dreams  
I bring you sweets and presents, books, a plush  
that I know will not reach you in the past.  
I’m not the nicest one, but if you like  
you may think ‘mine’ when you think about me  
–that’s what I am and what I want to be.  
You’re always pleased to see me; you do smile  
and if I hold you then you hug me back  
–that’s how the morning finds us every time  
with limbs entangled and up-curling lips.  
  
Night after night it’s harder to let go.  
You’re never conscious when I pick you up  
and carry you bride-style; I never want  
to lay you down – your bed’s always so cold–  
to leave you alone might rip my heart in two  
– you’ve been all by yourself more than enough  
and I ache for your childhood. I’m amazed  
to see that you grew up so strong and brave  
that you’re not bitter, that you won the war.  
As I hold your child-self inside my dreams  
and hold your sleeping self every sunrise  
I wish to hold you while you’re wide awake.  
  
But nothing changes, and night after night  
you flop into my bed, you grip my waist  
lay your head on my shoulder, fall asleep  
while I dream of your past. Therefore I’m there  
to comfort you when you refused my hand  
and then regretted it, each time you were afraid  
or scared or angered or confused or lost  
because of Voldemort, the prophecy, my fist  
the time I broke your nose, for the blood spell  
you cast on me, the days you spent in chase  
of Horcruxes and hope, for having to give up  
your life in sacrifice to save us all  
  
That’s how I saw the things you never told,  
that I affected you more than I could have hoped.  
I felt again the Fire raging on in evil shapes  
and your relief in rescuing me, my weight  
warm and comforting pressed against your back:  
when that dream turned to nightmare, I was there.  
More than this, in the dreams I saw myself  
so entangled in your life, it made impossible  
to believe it is only a fabrication  
of wishful thinking, unrequited hope  
to finally read something in your eyes  
more than judgment, or loathing, pity, fear,  
every depth of emotion that we’ve shared.  
  
The latest time I visit you in my dream  
you are ready for bed, musing alone  
about the way I looked in the Great Hall  
and how you wish that I would talk to you,  
let the past be forgotten, dare again  
to offer you my hand, more than my hand, my heart.  
Then you lay down, and I startle awake.  
My self-restraint is over. Finding you  
cradled into my arms like every night  
at last I press my lips upon your mouth.  
It’s a fairy tale spell, and yet it works:  
your eyes blink open slowly, then you smile,  
  
swallow my breath and plunge into the kiss  
like it’s the only thing that keeps you alive.  
Every whisper about love that we exhale  
over our naked skin, over shared flesh  
makes our souls tingle. Vaguely we wonder  
what sealed the bond, what made the dream alive.  
I guess that your Occlumency is so bad  
my pining and desires leaked on your mind  
making you walk, asleep, into my bed  
while I’m a good Legilimens, therefore  
I plucked your thoughts, your feelings, hope, regrets  
straight from your brain, and morphed them into dreams.  
  
Much better now: when you come to my bed  
it’s wide awake, and willing, for your choice  
ready to welcome me, inside a dream and more


End file.
